Six Times Dean Effectively Blocked Sam Winchester
by jules1013
Summary: Blocked as in what one does when another is trying to pick up someone in a bar. Pairings: an assortment of het with Wincest as its telos. Spoilers: first two are preseries and the rest second season, pre BUABS, post Heart, during WIAWSNB, and pre AHBL I.


Six Times Dean Effectively Cockblocked One Samuel Winchester

**i.**

If Dean had given half a thought, he wouldn't be dick enough to pound on the bathroom door, but as it stands, Dean is filthy and exhausted but not exhausted enough to further soil the already questionable sheets into which he has every intention of crashing in ten minutes. So, he pounds.

Dad looks irritated by Dean's racket, but cannot hide his relief when the water stops. He preoccupies himself searching for clean clothes, not looking at Dean when he says, "Don't take too long in there yourself."

Dad's tone is even and distant, Dean finding himself grateful for that once understanding hits.

Sammy emerges frowning and flushed, the bathroom behind him lukewarm at best.

Dean angles past him muttering, "There'd better be some conditioner left."

**ii.**

For a kid that's so goddamn organized, Dean can't find shit in Sam's bag. Even after turning out every pocket, the only thing Dean finds is a few condoms. Huh.

"Dean, stop rummaging through my stuff, you're gonna mess up--" Sam immediately quiets as he notices Dean's hand. He's not embarrassed though but rather all _entitled_ and _defiant._

"Did you steal these?" Dean's never been one to keep a stash and Dad certainly didn't give him any.

Sam remains silent but his stare screams _sexual health and responsibility trump lying and stealing_ medical _supplies_ or maybe just _yeah? Suck it. I can have sex too._

Dean cracks a wry smile.

"What would you do with these anyway, Sammy? Make animal balloons?"

And that does it. Sam's eyes narrow before yelling (screeching, really), "You're a jerk!" and stomping away.

Dean laughs to himself and gives one last look at Sam's duffel before slipping the foil into his pocket with a shrug.

**iii.**

Sam's drunk. And not normal, obnoxious Sammy drunk, where he wants to alternately pick a fight, cry in your lap and force you into promises you have no intention of keeping, but rather an eerily calm, almost pleasant drunk. Or maybe just unwound.

This alone is enough to keep Dean tense. Sammy doesn't get drunk, not on a job and certainly not in front of strangers. Of course, Sam doesn't think of them as strangers, not really. Sam looks relaxed, but not completely off guard. He talks with Jo almost like he talks to some hesitant girl on a case, alternately open and evaluating. He wants to trust despite himself. Or maybe Stoic Sam is lonelier than he'd like to admit.

Dean occupies himself with the journal and a beer, his fingers itching for movement. Even if Ash wasn't crashed on top of the pool table, he doubts Ellen would appreciate the noise this late. She's still cleaning--who knew hunters were such a fucking obnoxious crowd--and she keeps half an ear on Sam and Jo at the far side of the bar, probably out of habit. Her real attention seems to be focused on Dean, he realizes, even though she's pretty good at hiding it. He wonders if she can tell he's focused on them rather than the journal in front of him, even though he's _damn_ good at hiding it.

Jo's voice is clear and calm, and a bit sweet in a way--probably her real voice, the ones hunters never get to hear. Sam's actually responding, his smile genuine and his body angled towards her on his stool. Dean wonders if she is even aware of what she is doing, wonders if Sam takes it as flirty or friendly or both.

Jo flicks a glance at Dean's back when she thinks Sam isn't looking. He is, and more than that, Dean would feel her stare even if he weren't sober. A bit clumsy for a chick who wants to hunt.

Ellen steps out back, and now the tone in Jo's voice has changed--sharper and leaner, a girl playing at adult and Dean's irritated because Sam's voice is still open and warm. He doesn't hold it against her, not really. She's this side of sober and grasping at straws rather than trying to manipulate. Still.

"C'mon Sammy. We've got an early rise and you're no good to me like this. Let's sleep it off."

Jo looks disappointed for half a second but then self-conscious realization strikes, her shame revealing itself before promptly being covered over by pride.

Sam seems untroubled, and unfolds himself from his stool after briefly rubbing a hand across his eyes.

Dean leads Sam out of the Roadhouse with a gruff _see you around _but without waiting for Ellen and without a second glance.

"Yeah." Evenly, decisively. "You boys take care."

She's a good girl, really. All things considered.

**iv.**

She's slight with long, dark hair, doe eyes and a shy smile that betrays her trust--as if she not only knows but expects Sam will take care of her. And goddamn it's almost funny; all the times Dean's not so subtly shoved pussy toward Sam, the one time Sam actually goes for it himself, Dean won't have it. Sam's just using her to torment himself over Madison, who was just a means to torment himself over Jess anyway, and Dean's right sick of _that._

Dean briefly considers playing the gay card--as it's always effectively played against them--but immediately decides against it. Besides, half the bar heard him eating-out firecrotch in the restroom not five minutes ago. No, _being_ a dick should suffice.

Dean's stride is purposive and his glare set but still they do that thing where they pretend not to notice right away. She'd probably even ignore him if he cleared his throat. Stubborn bitch.

His voice is firm, directed only at Sam, "C'mon, let's go."

"Uh, I'm kinda in the middle of a conversation here, Dean." Sam's all superior and angry, but Dean can see the hurt beneath it.

For her part, she keeps her eyes on Sam.

"I'm not asking you, Sam. We're done here--now let's go." He takes a chance by grabbing Sam's elbow and, thankfully, Sam doesn't throw a punch.

Only when Sam rises from the table does she turn cold eyes on Dean. Dean ignores her in favor of Sam, who's scowling and red in the face but follows Dean outside. A few people part to make room, sloshing their drinks, probably expecting a fight. Only once they're free of an audience does Sam start.

"Dude, what the hell!?" Sam's desperate more than angry really, and more sober than he wants Dean to realize.

Dean keeps his back to Sam, only acknowledging that he's listening once he reaches the driver's side. Dean fixes his face expressionless and stares at Sam across the hood. The slur dies in Sam's mouth, and his face contorts in a range of emotions before giving up. Only when Sam slams the door in after him does Dean move.

They've been driving for twenty minutes with Sam staring ahead, his face warring between shame and frustration.

"I just…" Sam starts but his voice betrays his lack of anger, so the fight immediately dissolves from his body.

Dean pretends he doesn't know why Sam's turned toward the window and clicks on a mixtape in gesture of stalemate.

**v.**

"What are you doing here, Dean?" And there's that know-it-all tone. At least some things are familiar.

"I couldn't sleep. I just…needed to be here."

"Won't Carmen worry?" And yeah, he's lecturing _and_ passing judgment.

"No. No, I told her that I'd be here. That I feel like I've been neglecting Mom and that it's not like a weekly thing, my brother being home."

"Okay, yeah. Whatever." It's accompanied with an eye-roll, but his tone is softer. "Goodnight, Dean."

"Sammy?"

Sam stills at the stair, shoulders slightly tense at the dreaded _-my_, but decides to be civil. "Yeah?"

"Could you--I mean…you wanna hang with me for a bit? I'm watching Girls Town with robot commentary, or we could just do whatever, you know. I could get you a drink? Mine's root beer." Dean gestures vaguely at the bottle, hoping he sounds casual, dreading that it's actually pitiful.

Sam's not a dick though. Mostly. So his voice is conciliatory, almost kind, when he speaks. "Dean, Jess is waiting."

"Oh. Oh, okay. Have a nice night Sammy." Dean sinks into himself, staring at the screen but not really seeing.

If Dean'd been looking at Sam, he'd have seen the tension between Sam's shoulders, as well as the slight pivot of deliberation on the bottom step. But Dean wasn't looking, so he's caught completely off guard when a giant mass plops down beside him.

"Turn it up--I love this episode."

Dean takes a swig to repress the upturn of his lips and hands Sammy the remote.

**vi.**

"Dean, I--" and his voice is different somehow, younger maybe. This isn't Sammy worrying, this is Sammy scared.

"Hey, come on now," Dean reaches for the forearm, "I won't let anything happen to you--you know that."

Sam doesn't pull away from Dean's palm, doesn't argue, and this response makes Dean less comfortable than a fight would. Sam leans into his hand, just slightly, and somehow they're both children again, vulnerable in a way you are until you reach two digits.

"You're my brother," he says and Dean doesn't know what it means.

"Yeah, Sammy." His voice is hoarse; Dean swallows. "And that means I won't let anything hurt you, and you won't let anything hurt me."

Sam huffs and his eyes grow redder.

"Not even me."

Dean doesn't have anything to say to that, so he searches Sam's eyes and brushes hair back from his forehead. Sam's gaze wavers for a moment, and Dean can feel a tremor along Sam's jaw.

"Okay, Sammy?"

Sam leans in a nod, his mouth slightly open and his brow nearly brushing Dean's. Dean brings his palm to Sam's jaw, fingers wrapping along the neck, holding Sam steady.

"You're my brother," he says and Sam stills.

"Yeah," Sam breathes before turning away.


End file.
